The Merciful God
by theeskimo1986
Summary: Wesker took a deep breath, drawing in the fragrance of so much blood, the lingering traces of terror nearly causing his mouth to water, the spent gunpowder odor permeating his senses. This was heaven, their hell. Rated M for violence, blood and gore.


The air was chilled, fridgid. He paid it no mind. The task at hand...

Trudging through the knee-high snow, he ducked his head against the snowflakes slashing at his face. He was aware that the ground had taken a sharp turn upwards, a hill. Smiling, he quickened his pace. Almost there. The trees around him slowly tapered back as he walked, becoming sparser and less frequent. His breath came out in calm white clouds against the snow filled atmosphere as he stopped at the crest of the hill; looking down the hillside in front of him, he spotted the small compound below, chimeys quietly spewing black smoke into the air. Smirking, the man started to jog forward, letting gravity help his decent as he tossed himself from ledge to ledge, keeping to the shadows.

The moon overhead was bright to his eyes, even though it was only half full. Jumping down another steep level, his feet were momentarily wretched from under him as they found a patch of ice on the ground below. Still, he didn't slow, only shifted his weight before diving headlong back on his path, as if nothing had happened. His movements were lithe and his reflexes seemingly cat-like; his form caught in a breakneck pace that few had witnessed, let alone matched. Movement up ahead, maybe one hundred yards in front of him, was the only thing to stop him.

Sliding gracefully through the deep snow the man kept hidden, his eyes wary. No sound followed his footsteps; nothing dicernable, anyway. The wind was howling mercilessly, smashing icy crystals against his tall frame, but he didn't show any signs that it bothered him. Silently, he fell into step behind the dark figure he'd seen before, and without hesitation the man grabbed the other form by the head, and with a quick jerk and a satisfying snap, the figure crumpled to the ground, dead. Leaving the body, the man continued onwards towards his destination, his mind focused on his objective.

The windows on the building were dark, the air quiet around him. Only the smoke drifting skyward gave credence that anyone resided here. The building itself was out of place here, in the middle of a forest. The severity of the angles and the sterile metal bars lining each window made it look like a most unhappy place; rising only one story but making up for it's height by the length, which was at least twice what most houses boasted. He wasn't concerned with the bars, or even searching through the long corridors this place would surely have locked within; merely with the levels below the obvious. The labrithine passages he knew existed beneath this harsh exterior would be his true challenge tonight.

Crouched low, he slunk silently to one of the windows, and gazing in at a perfectly blank room, he reached for the handle to his knife. Drawing the steel blade from it's sheath, he deftly slid the blade into the space between the bars and the window and prized it open with a small cracking noise. Looking around him to make sure that no one heard, the man made his entrance without further noise. Warmth pressed in around him, instantly beginning to melt the snow piled loosely over his body, and he took a moment to remove the parka from his wide shoulders.

A few crates and scattered boxes littered the room, but besides that, there was nothing in it. Undeterred, he pressed on, pausing only briefly at the only door in the room. Total darkness encompassed him, and he was thankful that the harsh floresents were off. Bright lights made his eyes hurt, it was the number one reason why he almost always wore sunglasses. And because he just couldn't really explain away his...unusual eye color. A bright flame ringed amber color, close to orange, the iris in the center eliptical in shape; it was the only mutation he'd suffered as a result of the G-Virus.

Listening intently for any sign of life on the opposite side of the exit, and finding none, he twisted the knob carefully and let the door fall open into the hallway. He strode into the hallway boldly, creating no sound. The walls in this hallway were constructed entirely of polished metal, as sterile and unwelcoming as the outside had been; even more so because of it's high shine and clarity; as if no one had touched these walls before. Even without a source of light, the man was able to see himself clearly in the high sheen of the stainless steel, as if he were standing directly in front of a mirror.

He took just a moment to straighten his blonde hair, curving his large hands over the loose strands as he slicked the wayward locks back. He enjoyed his muscled physicke for a moment; the man knew he was vain. The all black attire he was clad in was skin tight, displaying every curve of his body to perfection; the wide powerful shoulders, broad chest, muscled stomach, tapered hips. He wasn't completely built up like a muscled beach bum, but his reflection showed that he was as death incarnate; the guns in his shoulder holster only emphasizing his lethality. A small smile curved his thin lip upwards, he would inspire fear tonight as only a God could.

Turning left, he continued on his journey, walking without a sound. The building seemed to be uninhabited, and yet he knew otherwise. Someone was here; Umbrella wouldn't leave something so valuable unguarded. Fools they all may be, but even fools held their secrets close.

A metal door barred his passageway at the end of the hallway, a small keypad where the knob would have been. Checking his PDA for the schematics, he smirked. The little map on the screen showed that this was the entrance he needed. Pulling his knife out again, he dismantled the lock pad's face, and hooked a wire from his PDA to the device. Numbers flew across the electronic's screen, stopping when they'd found the correct one until he heard a small click come from inside the door; the lock sliding back. Automatically, the door crept outward, the wheels inside it grinding together as they strained against the enormous weight. Too easy. He hoped that there would be a pack of guard inside to make this mission a bit more interesting.

Packing his PDA back into his inventory, he pulled his 1911-ACP Colt Magnum from it's holster, and using the slow-moving door as a shield, he swept the room with his eyes, the firearm following in perfect sync. Disappointment lanced through him as no men were present, the room just as boring as the hallway before had been. Moving on, his senses were on high alert, the gun still poised ahead of him. He was practically chomping at the bit for a kill or two to add to his already long list; the thrill that he got from killing like no other high imaginable. Patience had never been one of his strong suits.

Albert Wesker was viscious and efficent when he killed. And he killed because he enjoyed it. In his mind, nothing was more satisfying than snapping necks, blowing out brains, or eviserating a human being; it was better than sex. Power was the ultimate aphrodisiac. If there were ever anything that he'd loved in all his life, it was his work, his life's work.

Umbrella had taken his work, though. And he was going to get it back, make them pay for the atrocities they'd rained upon him. As he traveled from room to room, searching, he didn't stumble upon a single employee. Frowning, he checked the PDA again. He was going in the right direction; the control room would be the door at the end of this passageway. But why was no one here? A feeling of unease settled over the tyrant; this was smelling more and more like a trap. This building was supposed to be a high security facility. Yet, he'd easily gotten past the one guard earlier; Wesker was a little bit miffed that he hadn't taken his time with the mercenary when he'd had the chance. He'd definately have taken more time to kill him if he'd known that the inside of the building held nothing more than useless experiments in glass cases, infuriatingly bare rooms without a soul to slaughter.

Yes, something was definately amiss here. Ever the optomistic, Wesker smiled. The obvious trap that lay ahead of him may prove rather amusing; perhaps even a challenge. Hope burst forth in his breast again, and he continued on with unadultered enthusiasm, giddy with a child-like anticipation. Such fun! As he approached the doorway that his PDA had marked as 'the one', he heard faint scraping noises coming from inside the room, the distinct beating of many hearts and the flutter of many men breathing. An ambush; oh, this was going to be an absolute delight! He could hear at least thirty behind the heavy metal door, and could smell more. His inhuman senses were on fire with the overwhelming stench that such a mass of people made, but he revelled in it.

Forsaking his PDA for a less subtle approach, he shouldered the metal door, creating a hollow ringing noise as he dented the exterior. Ramming his body into the sturdy surface repeatedly, he could smell the fear that seemed to rankle the air around him. A few of the men behind the door were shaking; he could hear their gun's rattling in their hands. Smiling, he continued to slam his body into the offending twist of metal, the distinct sound of ripping steel bolts screeching in his ears painfully. He could have ripped the door down in a matter of seconds, but it was better to play with them, more fun. Like a cat with a bucket full of mice, he sought to strike fear in them. Make them forsake their God and accept him as the only real deity, before he would indiscrimately tear through them like a .50 caliber machine gun. Break their faith only to give them a new God. Power was his weapon, fear his power.

When the door looked as if it may fall down from a slight breeze, he backed away from the entrance, waiting for the uncertainty to slip through the throngs behind it. He could hear their labored breathing, and Wesker could have laughed at the lot of them. Inferior and insignifigant though they may be, he was delighting in tormenting their psyche. Growing bored with inaction, he kicked out at the door visciously, sending the contorted chunk of metal flying into the crowd. At least five men were killed instantly, and two more writhed on the ground as the others began to fire their weapons towards him; he dodged left and right, moving with all the speed he possesed. No bullets hit him as he moved with deadly finallity to the closest man in the crowd of fifty or more.

Coming behind the beefy mercenary, Wesker grabbed his head and snapped his neck, twisting the head until he was facing back at him. It wasn't a second later that he was on the next man, this time kicking the man in the chest, breaking ribs and sternum; the delicious cracking noises reverbrating in the wide space around him. As the men tried to trace his erratic and furious path with their feeble weapons, friendly fire cut down so many men, and Wesker did laugh then, a piercing and eerie sound in the whirlwind of gunfire. He sent a fist into one man's face, instantly shattering the skull with a loud crunching, dropping him instantly. Wesker then pulled his magnum from it's sheath, and began to shoot, taking headshots; causing brain matter and gore to spray out behind them. The air was misted in pink, and he moved with ease now as the crowd of many became a crowd of few, unloading and reloading his weapon repeatedly. One man dropped his gun and bolted for the twisted frame of the door Wesker had entered from; aiming lower, Wesker squeezed off two shots, blowing the man's kneecaps out from behind. Screaming, the man dropped ungracefully. Wesker ignored him, and reloaded, dropping the spent clip in the mass of bodies littering the slick metal floor, blood pooling at his feet.

As soon as it had begun, it was over. Every last man had been killed or incapacitated efficiently, the cries of the survivors ignored. A few men were choking on their own blood, sputtering and gurgling noises assaulted his ears like the most beautiful music he'd ever heard. Wesker took a deep breath, drawing in the fragrance of so much blood, the lingering traces of terror nearly causing his mouth to water, the spent gunpowder odor permeating his senses. This was heaven, their hell.

Trudging over the bodies carelessly, Wesker approached the mainframe computer, and hacked easily past the fail-safes. He downloaded the information he needed in a matter of minutes, tapping his foot impatiently the entire time; listening to the blood slosh against the soles of his boots with each of the rythmic steps. He thought about engaging the self-distruct mechanism, but decided against it; it would be more of an insult if he left this destruction in his wake. Let the bastards at Umbrella see his power, let them know fear. He was the ultimate weapon, the most effective BOW ever created, and he was rogue and dangerous. Smiling at the thought, Wesker popped his flash drive back into his side pack, and retreated slowly back the way he'd entered. The coward who'd run from him was still moaning on the ground, weak and curled into a ball as he grabbed at his ruined legs.

For a moment, Wesker watched him writhing on the floor, before lifting his boot above the man's head. His shadow brought the man's gaze up to meet Wesker's, fear evident in his blue eyes. Matching the man's stare, Wesker smiled down at him, flashing his teeth.

"Let no one say that I am not a merciful God," Wesker said, before slamming his foot down on the man's face, his brain spraying outward as the skull cracked easily, like a over-ripened melon bursting.

Wesker left as he had come; Unseen and silent, and totally satisfied with himself.


End file.
